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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22503307">Exile</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollseyes/pseuds/dollseyes'>dollseyes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Bright Sessions (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Film Noir, Multi, Owen is sad, maybe angst?, there are definitely other tags i should put but honestly idc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:15:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,654</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22503307</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollseyes/pseuds/dollseyes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Green takes on a case from an old employer who wants him to track down an escaped atypical.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adam Hayes/Caleb Michaels, Joan Bright/Owen Thompson | Agent Green, Samantha Barnes/Mark Bryant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Exile</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Smoke drifted in through the open window from the street below. The ratty curtains that hung from the bowed curtain rod flapped their smog-encrusted folds against the rotting window frame. Sounds of the city night drifted up and swirl in through the opening as well, accompanied by the sounds of his neighbor, a practicing attorney, fucking his secretary. The new one his wife had hired after she found him cheating with the last one. This one’s less pretty than the last. Perhaps she thought that would help him keep it in his pants. But judging by the way this one moaned, it didn’t. Dick Bateman was the kind of man who would put his prick into anything that had legs and could lay on its back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Agent Green couldn’t begrudge him though. After all, he was celebrating too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a much more sober manner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or perhaps, less sober.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Most certainly in a less disruptive manner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The scotch burned down his throat and boiled his empty stomach. It was much nicer alcohol than he was accustomed to these days. That was likely due to the fact he had bought it in another life, for another person. Someone who actually appreciated the ‘bite’ of it. Someone who tasted something other than old boot leather when they drank it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hated scotch. Hated the way it tasted. Hated the brown water look of it. Hated that every time he drank it, he thought of </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Hated that she probably hated him. Hated that she probably didn’t hate him as much as he hated himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The glass looked sad as he set it down upon his desk, empty again. So he filled it back up. That looked better. But then he felt the same sad emptiness in himself, so he emptied it again. Only to be faced with another sad, empty, lonely fucking glass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What broke the cycle was the ringing of the phone on his desk. A sharp trill that grated on his nerves. He should let it ring. If a client actually called, he would undoubtedly make a poor impression inebriated as he was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The phone, however, was already up to his ear when he had that thought, so it did him little good. And the prepared speech he had practiced didn’t exactly come out the way he expected either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Agent Green, Private Investigator. How can I - investigate you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Happy Anniversary, Green. So, tell me, how does freedom feel, one year later?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could practically feel the blood drain from his face at the familiar sound.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wadsworth, how … delightful to hear from you.”</span>
</p>
<p><span>“I see you’re spending your time productively at 10 am on a Tuesday.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Something about her voice makes him revert to his customer service tone.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“What can I do for you, Ellie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think the real question is, what can I do for you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The scotch no longer boiled, but his blood began to. He made no reply. He can almost see her sitting there at her desk, large and mahogany and empty of any and all important documents. His own is also devoid of important documents, but that’s not for lack of trying. No one needs a private investigator into events the general public doesn’t know exist. The AM had been his best source of income for years, and he suspected they, or more specifically, Wadsworth, were the reason he couldn’t find work afterwards. Even clients he had taken before his time at the AM didn’t return his calls. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t hang up as soon as he heard her voice on the other end of the line.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Unless you want to just continue wasting your life away, by all means, go ahead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His head lolled back into his chair and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. They smelled of alcohol and tobacco. The two least destructive of his vices. And here Ellie was, dangling his worst in front of his nose. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just one more job. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Maybe then he could move on, find another line of work. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just one more job.</span>
  </em>
  <span> A lie he had told himself countless times before, knowing the falsehood of it. Everything told him this time wasn’t a lie. The ache in his joints and the way his chest hurt on his morning runs and the silver in his hair that he carefully plucked out. This was a young man’s game, and while he was by no means old yet, he didn’t belong anymore. That didn’t mean he didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. Didn’t need it more than air in his lungs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s the mark?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Curious turn of phrase, for you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Green flinched, and despite being unable to see it, he knew that Wadsworth already knew and she continued on without his response.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A Tier Five atypical broke out about a week ago. A nurse missed the schedule for sedatives. There’s been no signs of him since.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And your people can’t handle this because?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He can be rather persuasive..., but you were always the best.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t let that get to his head. Or at least he tried not to let it get to his head. Some part of him was still primed to preen at any praise she deigned to give him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll do it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could hear the way her self satisfied grin tugged at her mouth when she spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wonderful. I’ll have the first half of your payment deposited into your account within the hour.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That much confidence in me, Ellie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know the extreme measures you’ll take to get the job done. No matter the personal costs, isn’t that what you used to say? And you have so little to lose in that department nowadays.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes fell back on the scotch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No matter the costs,” he repeated under his breath, preparing to set the phone down on the receiver.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh and Green?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hand hovered midair before he brought it back to his ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Remember to keep your head on straight, and don’t let your emotions cloud your judgement on this one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he could respond to that cryptic message, the line died, leaving him to the tone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His neighbor finally finished and he heard the secretary return to her little desk outside the office. Agent Green leaned back in his chair, ignoring the squeak from the old wood beneath him. If the AM had maintained its rates, he might be able to afford a new one to replace the uncomfortable relic beneath him. That thought at least, brought a smile to his face. A new chair. What a goal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Five years ago he had been in the process of house-searching. A nice, picket fence and a yard, just outside the city. The perfect house to match the engagement ring he had bought. The engagement ring that had made the transition from his desk at the AM to his desk here, tucked in the very back of the drawer. Five years ago he was house searching and now the prospect of affording a decent chair excited him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Green!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The knock on the door was hardly more than a formality before Dick Bateman burst in, almost put back together after his morning activities, save for the fact that all of his buttons were shifted down a hole, leaving a bare button at the bottom and an empty hole at the top.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The private investigator sighed and immediately wished he had the foresight to put the scotch away before Bateman dropped his sweaty pants into the equally uncomfortable chair across from Green.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I see you’ve started early, what are we drinking then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He plucked the bottle from his table with his meaty fingers, his wedding ring clinking against the glass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Green, you’ve been holding out on me! Didn’t know you could afford this vintage.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick rolled it over in his hand, examining it. Green got the sense that Dick Bateman was the type of man who equated price with quality when it came to alcohol. And while this bottle was both pricey and quality, Green resented his neighbor a little more for the fact. Not that he had any more experience, especially with scotch. No, he knew this was good because it was her favorite.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, pour me a glass and I’ll tell you about my latest case.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Agent Green had no desire to pour him a glass and even less to hear about the real estate lawyer’s latest case. Until the man spoke again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This couple signed away an entire house to a man because he asked!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The private investigator’s ears practically perked up. He grabbed the second glass from his desk and set it down, pouring two fingers for the man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s a good man!” Bateman sipped at his glass and swirled it around in the glass as though he knew anything about dregs or color or anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me about this couple,” Green said, leaning forward in his desk.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This is Agent Green. Case Log 1036. I was given a new case today. Wadsworth called. While I am still not certain that she is not the reason I am blacklisted from all work, I decided to take the case, as I am, at the moment, desperate for work. Personal issues aside, it will be good to have something to work on again. The target is a Tier Five escapee. Powerful enough to be kept under constant sedation. “Persuasive” is the word she used, so I expect that to mean mind control. An exciting challenge at least. They always are tricky to track. But I think I may have a lead. The source was unexpected, but the best information usually comes from where you least expect it. My source says a couple claim to have been tricked into signing away one of their properties. A man approached them on a tour of the property and asked them if they wanted to sign the title over to him. And they did want to, apparently. So now they’re out one house and can’t seem to find a real estate lawyer to take their case. My source provided me with the address of the property and I intend to investigate tomorrow. With all the collected data that I have, and acting under my current suspicion that the silver-tongued house thief is one and the same with the missing atypical, it narrows down the list to a sparse few I am aware of from my time at the AM who might be responsible. All of whom will be less than thrilled if I show up on their doorstep in the morning.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Miracle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Agent Green commences a stakeout to observe the suspect.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The plunks of fat water droplets in a metal pail room woke him. For a moment, he thought the world had fallen silent, disappeared in the fog and dimness of the early morning. Then he heard the wail of sirens not far enough away and the clatter of a garbage bin, and shouting in the street below. The ever present draft of his apartment had sunken into his bones and he brought them up above his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bottle of scotch stood opened beside his bed, the scent of alcohol turning his stomach. The more comforting smell of starch had faded from his sheets and when he tried to smooth them down, they remembered their wrinkles. No matter. Tonight he would get them washed. Then tomorrow morning, he would wake to clean sheets. The thought was enough to get him out of the bed and headed towards the grimy mirror on the wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His clothes could use a wash as well. They didn’t yet stink, but it wouldn’t hurt to do them as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Upon viewing his reflection, he realized why the draft had affected him so much that morning. In his stupor the night before, after additional celebrating on his own from the comforts of his apartment, he had forgone a nightshirt. He found himself absently scratching at the scars on his chest and forced his hand away. Always chasing a phantom itch, even if it had been years since they had healed. Before he could put too much thought into those scars, he snatched a white undershirt from the pile and pulled it on. Out of sight and out of mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next step was to wash away the mistakes of the night before. He swirled a mouthful of water from the pitcher beside his mirror and spat it into the metal pail set in the middle of the room to collect water from the leaking roof. Would he replace that thick taste with coffee or cigarettes this morning? Coffee would make the morning more bearable, but cigarettes promised relief from the inevitable pang of hunger. Deciding it was a problem for later, he splashed his face with water. Upon further inspection, he had some strange substance caked to the side of his face. He didn’t inspect it further as he scrubbed it away. What did not wash away were the dark circles under his eyes, but those had become a regular feature recently. At least the scotch had delivered on its promise of a dreamless sleep. Even the headache meant he had something to focus on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow, in his drunken state, he had managed to crumple his pants and jacket into a tight ball and shove it under the bed. He deemed his favorite shirt unusable, and ended up with a crisp starched shirt that jutted out with excess fabric across the chest. He supposed it mattered little under the mess of his jacket and overcoat. On second thought and a glance at the nearly full pail and sky full of clouds, his jacket and slicker.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peeling off his socks, he miraculously found a clean pair in the mix, despite nearly having a row with the old chest of drawers over it. Once he had shoes and his hat on, he returned to survey his reflection.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His appearance was more frumpled than he would have preferred, but he had clean socks and his shirt was white and his face clean. And, perhaps most importantly, his mind was untroubled by remnants of memories of dreams. When he placed his hand in his pocket to drop his keys, he found a couple spare coins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Coffee </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> a pack of cigarettes, he thought and the reflection flashed him a determined smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The townhouse sat squat on the cramped street. A gap barely big enough to squeeze through runs along the side between the neighboring house. The streetlights in this side of town are spotty, spread too far apart to actually serve any purpose, really just highlighting the built up weeks of trash sitting on curbs and spilling out into the streets, creating a foul odor. Agent Green felt the stench soaking into his clothes as he leaned against the shuttered corner store. He finished another cigarette and crushed it beneath the toe of his shoe. Twelve hours of ash buildup mixed with the rivulets of water that ran down the sidewalk like a dozen murky black rivers. The rain started up again at around noon and hadn’t let up in the seven hours since. The awning of the abandoned storefront lent him protection from the spray, but did nothing to keep his shoes dry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cigarettes could only do so much to keep him warm in the brisk autumn air that prickled at his hands and face and teased an even colder winter than the last. His hunger resurfaced as well, belying the fact he had not eaten all day. Stakeouts once meant a partner bringing his favorite sandwich and splitting a hot cup of coffee, even if he had to drink it black.It was boring, drudging work, but always with the promise of silent camaraderie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes glanced back towards the dark facade of the building before returning to the more worrying feature of the street, a looming shadow of a man tucked into the alcove provided by the deep set boarded up front doorway, watching the same house. Green wondered who else had a vested interest in the building. He didn’t doubt that Wadsworth would send others on the same case, but he had come upon this lead by happenstance and the possibility seemed unlikely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man had arrived a few hours after Agent Green, and had passed him at a brisk pace, tilting his head towards him before settling himself at his post.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The figure shifted uncomfortably back and forth, the silhouette of his slicker casting an ominous shadow, all broad shoulders and dark fabric pulled tightly against muscle. Green was surprised they made jackets large enough for the man. His competition was also not built for stealth. As tall as Green, but twice as broad in the chest, he would be better suited to being a bouncer. Green allowed himself a light chuckle at the idea of an illicit den behind the deteriorating wood of the door the man stood in front of. A night club, or a bar that hadn’t heard speakeasies had long fallen from style.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if to confirm his image, a woman in heels approached the man. The umbrella in her hand tilted towards Green, against the wind and spray, preventing a clear view of her face. She spoke in a hushed tone with the other man, and the manner in which she held herself gave the suggestion of easy confidence. Even without the giant standing above her, she was a short woman.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Green suddenly had the urge to look away. Something about the way this woman moved made his heart pound against his ribcage. She’s too similar. The curl of her hand around the umbrella handle, the shift in her weight as she listens, the way she steps forward to cover the man with her umbrella, even if she has to crane her neck to see him. Green was at a loss of what to do with the overwhelming tidal wave of emotion crashing over him. While aware he hadn’t dealt with his emotions properly after the fact, somehow he had expected that years of pushing it aside would disappear the problem entirely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, the man in the doorway was on high alert, eyes casting about the street until he locked eyes on Agent Green, standing under his own cover. This attention brought the woman’s gaze upon him as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His stomach dropped like an anchor, dragging him with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The umbrella passed from her hand to the man. With each click of her heels, another pebble dropped into his pocket. By the time they reached him, he was already drowning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Agent Green,” her voice was cool, impersonal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Joan.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doctor Bright, how lovely to see you,” he started. Cool, calm, collected, and just as impersonal. That was good. Perhaps he could make his way through it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would ask to what I owed the pleasure of seeing you again, but I already know. Still at her beck and call, I see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, Joan, didn’t you know? I quit. Because you were right. Because I couldn’t do it anymore.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bills need to get paid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Doctor Bright scoffed and looked him up and down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look like shit, Green.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was not wrong. Despite all his affirmations about a clean shirt and socks, he was still a mess. His hat was soaked through from the walk over, the clean socks he had put on were damp and cold inside his wet shoes and his shirt was still too loose on him. He didn’t need to give her a once over to reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She did. Her coat was smart and slimming, hugging her in all the ways he knew she liked. Her hair coiled in ringlets that fell just past her shoulders. Her heels were sensible, but distinct. The entire ensemble gave off an effortless grace that he didn’t think she ever really noticed. For all of her insecurities about her character, she had always been comfortable in her own skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve cut your hair,” he remarked cheerily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughed a cold, hard laugh and looked away, back at the street before turning back to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’re smoking again? I thought you were finally done with that. I suppose I should have expected you to fall back on old habits.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t want to protest that this was different. That this wasn’t about staving off hunger to try and remove any traces of curves. He just didn’t have the time or resources for more than this verisimilitude of normalcy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve had a challenging year. Speaking of which, how have you been?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Do you miss me the way I miss you? Do you still find traces of me when you least expect them?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I’m not doing this. I’m not participating in small talk with you anymore. Not after everything you’ve done. I’ll just ask you this, plain and simple: What is your purpose here, Agent Green?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her response was fair, by all measures. That did not mean that it cut any less deep. It did not stop the maelstrom of emotions swirling through him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid I am not at liberty to discuss my purposes with you, Doctor Bright.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joan breathed in sharply and glanced at her companion, a quick, worried glance before setting her eyes back on Green.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then I will say this out of the last thread of goodwill I have towards you: stay away from him. He’s dangerous. Not even you are prepared to handle this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turned to the other man and a sandwich seemed to appear out of the folds of her coat and pass into his hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here, dear, I brought you supper. I’m sorry to ask you to do this, I know you’re busy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> He took it with glee and deposited it in his own endlessly large coat pockets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever I can do to help, Doctor Bright. I’m just returning the favor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The smile she graced him with was soft but genuine and Green looked away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then she was gone again, umbrella and all, swallowed up into the dreary evening. Green did his best not to watch her as she left, but he couldn’t help but imagine that she was taking all the light with her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The last thread of goodwill.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cupped that phrase in his mind. The thought that she still cared, even a little, acted like a bellows upon that fragment of a thought and he let it rest in his chest, unwilling to stoke it more for fear of it burning him from the inside out. It did make the air seem warmer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You fool</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buoyed by this newfound energy, he took it upon himself to glance around at their surroundings in a way he should have when he first arrived. Further inspection led him to a rather important discovery: the hinges on the boarded up shop door were rusted, and foolishly set on the outside. The lock itself remained strong, enough of a deterrent to would be thieves, but not to a man who carried a swamp in his shoes and whose knees ached. His hands pressed against the door and he felt it give, but didn’t have the strength to finish it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Luckily, he knew someone nearby who was built like an ox.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t mean to trouble you, but seeing as we will both likely be here for the next couple of days, I wondered if I could bother you for just a moment.”</span>
</p>
<p><span>The man looked at him, and Agent Green still couldn’t see his face in the dim light, but he considered himself a good judge of body language.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Wonderful, I just need you to push on this door for me, real quick. Then we can both sit inside where we are both less visible and less wet.”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>The man nodded and walked over to the door. He hardly put any actual effort into it and the door went crashing in. This sent the man into a light panic, but Green placed a hand on his elbow and led him in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shop was dark and musty and devoid of anything more than a couple of broken shelves and a few decent chairs. Agent Green mused over bringing one of the more well-built ones back to his office before deciding he was not up to the trek across town lugging a chair behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, he pulled two up against the boarded window that faced the house, carefully positioning them so that he could see between the slats to the front door. Meanwhile, his new companion propped the door back up in the frame and came to join him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a couple moments of silence, Green spoke up, his eyes still locked on the steps leading up to the squat home across the way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So is it inhuman strength?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your ability.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, no.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is regeneration?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Advanced hearing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Iron skin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shapeshifting?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Agent Green looked at him. It was no less dark inside the unlit building than on the street and he could make out no definitive features. Not that any of that had any effect on abilities. Beneath his scrutiny, the man squirmed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s empathy, okay?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sentence was quiet and Agent Green might not have heard it were it not for the deafening silence in the room beyond the sound of water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They fell back into a comfortable silence until the other man spoke up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s your ability?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t have one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re normal? I just figured since you knew Doctor Bright that, well… you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That I was atypical?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope, just normal old me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other man paused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t seem normal. At least, you aren’t normal to Doctor Bright. When she saw you, well, her emotions went haywire. She was so angry and sad and happy and worried, all at once. I know more than anyone that people can have a lot of emotions at once, but this was unusual.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Green shifted uncomfortably in his seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure Doctor Bright wouldn’t want us discussing her emotions without her permission. Those are private things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, yeah, but it’s not like you’re going to hurt her with them. You love her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there it was, the truth he had been unable to escape from for five years, laid bare for him by a complete and total stranger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I’ve made you upset, I, I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something in his tone made Green sit up ramrod straight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How old are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m seventeen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Seventeen. Joan had brought a seventeen year old into this mess. What had possessed her to do that?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have no doubt of that, it’s just…worrying. I mean, I should have guessed when she brought you food, I suppose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The mention of food seemed to spark a reminder and he pulled it out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She only brought one, but if you want, we can split it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Green contemplated it. Taking food from a child? A large child who needed it more than him to sustain that size? He should say no, he was going to say no when his stomach rumbled and half of a sandwich was thrust into his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He unwrapped his half and could feel his mouth watering as he brought it up. As soon as it was near his lips, he could smell it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this shrimp?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wished he was wrong. Because he was so hungry. Because smoking another cigarette would not actually solve the problem of the gnawing hunger in his stomach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. She got it from one of my favorite shops. They make the best po boys”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Agent Green passed the half back across the table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid I cannot eat this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To distract himself, he pulled out his tape recorder and set it on the table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doctor Bright has one of those as well. She uses it to take notes so she doesn’t forget things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Do you miss me the way I miss you?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s an effective and helpful system. I find it works for me rather well. Do you mind if I-?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, no, go ahead.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This is Agent Green. Case Log 1036. First day of observation for the escaped Tier 5 atypical. The house shows no obvious signs of forced entry, which matches description from lead. Upon interview, the neighbors claimed that they had noticed a new young man had moved in recently. They said that while initially he seemed very charming when they got back to their own homes and reconvened later, it was agreed that he was rather nasty indeed. Current evidence still points to some variation of mind control. I intend to continue observation tomorrow, at 0900. If the subject leaves the premises, I will likely attempt to gain entry to the house and see what further evidence I can find. Contact is still not advisable, and is likely to end up very poorly. Hopefully tomorrow will have more answers.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Sandman</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Agent Green and his new partner continue to stake out the escaped atypical's home.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Agent Green absentmindedly watched the street before him, folding and unfolding a small scrap of paper in time with the drip of water from the pipe. It had rained again the night before, but the sky cleared since then. Their target had taken it upon himself to slip out of the house and disappear a few hours before. So there was little for either of them to do while he was away beyond crumple the note from the bank. His current position didn’t face the house so he wouldn’t see if the target returned by a different path, but Caleb sat at the table inside, keeping watch on the house itself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was strange how quickly they had taken to each other. Green had always been a people person, had liked and gotten along with people, but normally, sharing this much time with someone made him uncomfortable. Save for his last partner, he hadn’t really worked long cases with others, preferring to handle them on his own. Before, he had never trusted anyone to be able to do the work competently, other than Wadsworth who had quickly climbed the chain of command and quickly became too valuable of an asset for field work. When he had been asked to partner with an up and coming specialist within the ranks of the AM, he had been hesitant. No one they assigned him before had matched up with Wadsworth's quick mind. Joan had. Paperwork wise, he was unmatched, and Joan didn't have the patience for it, but as soon as a source sat in front of her, she was in her element. Wadsworth always had picked up the front end of their partnership because she had a knack for making people squeal. Joan could make people talk. Agent Green was no exception. In fact, he was certain she was unaware of her own charm and cunning, her mind whirring up theories like a cotton candy machine. Once he heard her speak, he was a hopeless cause, for all his talk of going it alone. And after her, well, after it had felt wrong to even consider getting to know another person that well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The amicable partnership likely also stemmed from the fact that Caleb was very in tune with other people. Caleb confessed that his ability was the reason he spent so little time with people his own age. Any time not spent with his family was spent with Dr. Bright and her collective. Caleb wasn't forthcoming with any particular details on that front, obviously hesitant to reveal anything to Agent Green, but from what Green was able to gather, Joan had been busy. In the years following her departure from the AM, she had reached out to former patients, ones she knew didn’t hold the AM in the highest regard. The others came up in conversation sporadically, mentions of their opinions and their presence in different stories. Caleb spoke to Green as though his knowing Joan meant that he should already be familiar with the others. They all came as a package in his mind, with little concept of how strange it was for a group this large to form outside of the AM. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his time with the AM, Agent Green had worked with countless empaths, and knew what a challenge the ability could be, especially at an age when emotions ran high anyways. So he did his best to keep his emotions in check when around the kid. And Caleb was definitely still a kid. When he showed up the second morning, the sky was clear of clouds and he wore a letter sweater instead of the slicker and hat that covered most of his face. Now, instead he wore a sparkling white and red letter sweater.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should you be in school?” Green asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, it’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But keeping his emotions in check had become quite a task, especially as it came to be time for lunch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because lunch meant Joan. Dr. Bright, as Caleb called her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> In the pictures, the women walked slowly, seductively, and with a false timidity that contrasted with their blatant confidence in their looks and charm. Agent Green believed that none of those directors had ever seen Dr Joan Bright walk. Her strides were as long as her legs would allow with grace and she moved swiftly, wholly confident in her purpose. Her heels never reached the heights of the ones in the pictures but enough to accentuate the calves that peeked from beneath her skirts. Her eyes flicked to her sides as she walked, alert but not alarmed, and they always locked onto him as she passed him. He had often wondered if Joan was atypical. There was something unnatural in the way the air disappeared from his lungs and his heart ceased it's beating in her presence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suffice it to say, Green preferred not to be in range of the empath when Joan arrived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On this particular day, stationed a little ways down from the shop, his cigarette now burning between his fingers, he was subjected to an even more exquisite torture, as Joan, who had already passed him on the way to the store, returned to stand beside him, gaze fixed on the other side of the street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hair is twisted up into an intricate looking bun. The rounds of hair curled back and secured away from her face were her way of compensating for her pin straight hair that never seemed to hold a curl. Agent Green’s fingers ached with the memory of delicately extracting each and every pin so that it fell around her face, framing her patient smirk. Green never understood why she ever put it up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Caleb says you two been getting along."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Green nodded, swallowing thoughts of her lips against his. He was unable to keep the same nonchalance she displayed, his eyes remained firmly on her face, soaking in every detail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He also says you've not eaten."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you sending him to spy on the escapee or me, Joan?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corners of her mouth dragged down in a frown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't flatter yourself Green," she said flippantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was little chance of that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, I'm certain you've guessed why I'm here, Joan. So tell me, why are you so interested?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, she leveled him with a gaze, but declined to answer instead turning her attention back to the opposing wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Something important enough to bring a child into this?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He has strict instructions to only observe, not engage. I trust that won't be a problem for you. You always did prefer to wait and watch."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agent Green bristled at the pricklings of their old argument.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Passive. Weak.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Not her words, but Wadsworth's. But Joan didn't need to say it for his mind to supply them for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I will keep an eye out for him," he said softly, hoping to assuage the tension building between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan laughed darkly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I won't count on it. Have a nice day, Agent Green."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that, Joan was gone again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Green took the time to finish his cigarette before he returned inside. By that time, Caleb had finished eating and was tossing his balled up trash back and forth in his hands as he watched through the window. Agent Green doubted he could do it if he watched his hands. Caleb had the muscle memory for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat in silence for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think he saw you last night after I left?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Green looked up across the table at Caleb, who ran a finger inside the cuff of his sweater, stretching it out. Green resisted the urge to tell him not to ruin the sweater. Instead he focused on the night before. Agent Green had left earlier than usual to go to the bank before it closed for the night to ascertain that his check from the AM had made it into his account. The slip still burned a hold in his pocket. In the process, he had not seen the target.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t believe so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb hummed, and worked his jaw in the way that he did whenever he was thinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you ask?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, he’s a lot more… scared today. Like sometimes, he’s nervous or worried, but never really scared. Also, there’s normally more anger, like a current underneath it all. But right now, it’s just fear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean right now? How far is your range?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I can get across the block, if I’m trying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you can feel him now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, of course. I just said I could reach across the block and he’s been there all morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agent Green stood abruptly, tossing his coat over his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's happening?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know how long he's going to take to get back, but we need to get in and out of that house before he does. It seems he has decided to take a hostage."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the brief walk to the house, the plan was established thusly: Agent Green would enter the house, followed by Caleb. From there, Caleb would remain posted by the door to keep an eye out for the target as well as trying to find him with his ability, as nebulous as it was. Green would in the meantime search the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't the best plan, but Green didn't have time to formulate a better one.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Passive, weak.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You always did prefer to wait and watch.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Not anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agent Green had plenty of experience jimmying locks and the one on the front door of the house their target was squatting in only had three pins. Child's play.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For all his clumsiness, his fingers had always been fairly deft. Each pin clicked into place one at a time until the tension on the other pick turned the lot. Agent Green briefly let himself bask in the glance of surprised respect that Caleb shot him. At least in the eyes of this single teenager he had some modicum of respect and appreciation.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought. That need for appreciation was what had gotten him into the mess he was in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slipped through the door behind Caleb and was faced with a sparsely decorated entryway, connected both to what looked like it had been designed to serve as a formal living room, and to a study with empty bookshelves lining every wall. They found a set of stairs leading both up to the second floor, and another leading downwards with a door at the bottom. When a raised eyebrows elicited only a helpless shrug from the empath, he made his way upstairs.</span>
</p><p><span>The second floor landing led to three separate bedrooms, mostly devoid of signs of life except for one, which contained a multitude of empty bottles and a thin mattress. A set of keys sat beside the mattress. Agent Green hadn’t seen a car, but it could easily have been stashed away at another location. Green imagined it likely belonged to a member of the AM who had been persuaded to part with it, only to realize it later, just like the owners of the house.</span><span><br/></span> <span>He didn’t have time, however to peruse more. There was a likely chance that the target would return soon, and Agent Green wanted to be far from here when he did.</span></p><p>
  <span>The other bedrooms held nothing of note or interest, a buildup of dust bearing a single set of footprints that Green dared not disturb. Instead, he returned to the main level, and to the stairs that led to the basement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was too dark to see anything beyond the steps. The light barely reached ten feet past the last step before fading away. The faint odor of mildew lingered in the air, heavy and wet. He could see the outline of a switch on the wall at the base of the steps. His hand fumbled on it and the lights turned on with a buzz.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Caleb shifted nervously back and forth on his feet as he stood beside the front window, watching the street for the man to return. He tried not to let the fact that Agent Green wouldn’t let him help out get under his skin. First Doctor Bright, now Agent Green, both of them treated him like a child. He wasn’t a child. He wasn’t like all the other guys he played football with. When he skipped school it wasn’t to race cars outside the city limits or chase the skirts of the local college girls. Instead it was to run surveillance on a potentially dangerous man recently escaped from the clutches of some shady mob that Doctor Bright only ever referred to as the AM.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The resentment boils beneath his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of his friends, none of his teammates, had to deal with that kind of stuff. None of them had to deal with knowing exactly how their classmates felt about them or when their dads felt down or when a stranger he barely knew couldn’t stop the wave of guilt and remorse and pain and loss and regret anytime he saw the woman he loved. No one else had to manage everyone else’s emotions on top of their own, and Caleb didn’t deserve to be handled with kid gloves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t until he watched the figure round the corner that he realized why suddenly, the patronization became overwhelming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Green! It’s time to beat feet!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not as subtle of a signal as he planned on. He had come up with about two dozen in the time he stood at the door, but none of them came to mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Help me get him out of here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Green struggled up the staircase with a form draped against his form. Caleb quickly supported the other side, taking the weight off Green who ducked out and rushed up the stairs to unlock the back door. Caleb found it easier to instead carry the person in his arms through the doorway, rather than dragging him along behind. Green hurried to close the door to the basement. Pressed up against the exterior wall on the back next to the garbage bins, Caleb could hear the front door open as Green crouched behind the back door, closing it slowly. When the handle fell back into position, Green met Caleb’s eyes and tilted his head towards the alley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without looking back, Caleb made his way through the alley, doing his best to watch his step, a feat of agility on the uneven gravel payment covered with bins and garbage. This was the reason the two of them hadn’t bothered to stake out the back door. It didn’t make a very good exit for escape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, they made it back onto the street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to get out of here, somewhere he won’t know to look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should take him to Doctor Bright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Uncertainty washed over Caleb from Agent Green.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, I don’t know what your history is with -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right, Joan will know what to do next.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb had expected to have to fight harder on this. Agent Green had been cagey on the subject of Doctor Bright from the start and he avoided seeing her as much as he could, even disappearing when she came to bring Caleb lunch. Now he was just, okay with going to her?</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Agent Green was not okay with going to Joan for help. Some part of him didn’t want to burden her, but the logical part of him knew that she was tied up in this mess just as much as he was, perhaps even more. But the brownstone looms above his head. Joan had always loved the classics. Clean lines, well made, the devil in the small details. Green knocked with the curving brass neck of the swan door knocker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The click of heels stopped on the other side of the door and he heard the lock turn. Joan’s eyes turned to stone as she looked at him on her stoop, but then her eyes cast to Caleb behind him and they bubbled with concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb entered first and Green hesitated a minute, unsure whether he should -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get in here so I can close the door, Green.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His feet obeyed quicker than his mind could process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Caleb, come with me, we’ll put him up in the spare room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agent Green sat helplessly in the kitchen at the back of the house, staring at the eclectic collection of paintings and art scattered around the house. None of them seemed like they were really Joan’s style. Nor did they seem to be of any particular style or era. Modernist works next to Rococo inspired pieces, next to avant-garde posters framed in black. Even a couple surrealist works hung above the empty wine bar, though just around the corner in the hallway hung a tapestry that looked like they belonged to a medieval exhibition. It looked like it cost the better part of a fortune.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The front door opened and Green heard a voice call out, “Joan? I’m home!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agent Green stood, straightening out his crumpled white shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A woman appeared in the doorway, arms laden with grocery bags, met his eyes and disappeared. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Do you know why he won’t wake up?” Caleb asked nervously over Doctor Bright’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since you can still sense his emotions, it’s likely Damien put him under.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would he do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe to keep him calm and quiet while he was gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he going to be okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll be fine, Caleb. Damien’s abilities only last for so long, and you’ve put quite the distance between him and Damien.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb shifted back and forth. He could feel that he was distracting Doctor Bright, and she was trying hard to concentrate. Instead, he focused his attention on the guy in the bed. He was probably around Caleb’s age. His hair was shaved tight to his head at the side and slicked down. The top was curly long and also gelled in some way. Caleb couldn’t really tell, he kept his own hair cropped close to his head so he never had to worry about all that. He had never seen the benefit of a complicated wig chop. It always took too much fussing. Gell and grease and marmalade or whatever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked sort of familiar. Caleb thought maybe he was one of Caleb’s classmates. Or maybe the year below. Caleb tried not to linger too much around people not on the team. At least his teammates' emotions were familiar, even if they weren’t always pleasant. That’s probably where they knew each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did that mean that he was atypical? That there could be another atypical at his high school? The prospect seemed enticing. Someone else his age he could talk with about all this malarkey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Joan? I’m home!” Sam’s voice rang from downstairs, and Caleb felt a rush of panic course through him, followed by a loud thump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doctor Bright shot up out of her seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit. Sam.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She left the room in a blur, and Caleb heard her heels click rapidly down the stairs. He could feel Agent Green’s nerves skyrocket as she approached.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Listen, Joan, I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not right now Green. I know you didn’t do anything. You just...took her by surprise is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agent Green sighed and set the bag of groceries he had collected from the floor on the counter. Most were soaked through with milk, the bottle broken in the bag. Joan began taking things from the soggy bag and putting them away in cupboards and in the refrigerator, occasionally pausing to wipe them down. Green watched aimlessly, unfamiliar with the kitchen. Joan did it in a perfunctory manner, without really even thinking about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long have you lived here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan glanced over her shoulder at him as he took a towel and bent down to pick up the broken bits of glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I met Sam about two years ago. And when my lease ran out a couple months ago, we decided this was easier for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something about that ate at him in a way that he couldn’t quantify. He had always known that well eventually she would probably -- but he didn’t -- that was to say that -- well he had still held out hope that eventually they could -- that didn’t matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m honestly surprised you didn’t know. I was certain the AM kept tabs on the competition.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They do,” Green said, staring down at the collection of glass in his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan hummed and kept her back to him, letting the silence eat at him like moths at a coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to tell her that he left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when Sam popped back into existence, the moment passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of Joan’s attention fell on Sam, smoothing her hair down and pulling her close and talking softly to her as the other woman clung to her shirt. Green looked away from the moment, feeling it too private for his eyes. His eyes fell on the front door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then Caleb came charging down the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s awake!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan looked at Green across the room, still with her arms around Sam’s shoulders, obviously contemplating whether or not to send Green upstairs. With a glance at Sam, she clenched her jaw and tilted her head from Green to the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He followed Caleb upstairs as the teen took them two at a time. The sight of skipping steps sent a rush of anxiousness through him. He had never trusted his own feet to land where they needed to and so he took his one at a time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy was sitting up, back resting against the backboard, twisting his hands together and glancing around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” Green said, taking a seat in the chair beside the bed. “My name is Agent Green.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agent Green’s the one who found you,” Caleb added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid looked at him apprehensively and Green realized that he had underestimated his age. Though he was slightly built and short, he was most definitely not a child. He was probably around Caleb’s age give or take a year, though beyond that, Green couldn’t tell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name is Adam.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb snapped his fingers. “Right, Hayes. You’re in my biology class.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Green could tell Caleb’s attempts to settle the other boy was working.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, or I would be if you ever showed up to class,” he said with an eye roll.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Green smiled softly, trying to build upon the foundations Caleb had laid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re in high school then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do your parents do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed like he wasn’t the actual target, but more leverage for the escapee. Perhaps one of his parents worked in the AM.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re doctors, at the state hospital.”</span>
</p><p><span>Green pursed his lips in thought for a moment.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“I’m sorry, your last name is Hayes, is that correct?”</span></p><p>
  <span>“I mean, yeah, All American over there just said it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are your parents Elijah and Rebecca Hayes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam shifted uncomfortably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know them, Green?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agent Green turned to see Doctor Bright standing in the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps this is a discussion best had downstairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked him up and down and nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they reached the kitchen, it was empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Hayes, why do you know them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elijah and Rebecca Hayes consult on medical emergencies within the AM. Rebecca Hayes is Ellie’s sister.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So Adam was probably taken as a hostage, but for what? What does Damien want that Ellie has?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damien?” Green questioned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The escaped atypical you’ve been tailing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. And before you ask, no I won’t tell you anything about him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Joan, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidnapped</span>
  </em>
  <span> a high schooler. Why are you protecting him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan looked at him, her jaw set, resolute. Green knew that line of questioning was a battle he had already lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. What would he want from the AM? Revenge? Information? Revolution? To watch the whole place burn? Any of those sound familiar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her teeth ground together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Point taken.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both stared at each other. Green did his best not to dwell on the iciness in her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Joan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Green turned to see Sam in the doorway, a sweater wrapped around her shoulders. Joan’s face softened when she turned her gaze to the other woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey. You feel better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sorry about all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m the one who should be sorry,” Green said, “I had no intention of startling you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s … fine. Everything’s copacetic,” she replied with a nervous laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Agent Green,” he said, extending his hand in greeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam, well Samantha, Barnes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s very nice to meet you, Samantha.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan clapped her hands together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Green, I think it’s time for you to head out. I will make sure both Caleb and Adam get back to their homes safe. And you and I will continue our conversation later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agent Green nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is Agent Green. Case Log 1036. Day … something of observation. I’m not even sure if I did a log yesterday. Suspect now has a name, courtesy of Doctor Bright. Damien. Whether that is a real name or not, I’m not certain. Wadsworth didn’t have any atypicals of that name while I worked there, and if he was there while Joan was, then I should have met him. But I can’t remember it, and he didn’t look familiar to me when I observed him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Regardless, he is dangerous. He has resorted to hostage taking. He somehow knows enough about Wadsworth to track down a nephew that I know for a fact she’s only made mention of in passing. The nephew is fine, seemingly uninjured, and probably slightly shellshocked.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who’s there?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t you want to let me in?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I- yes, I would like to let you in.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How kind of you, Green. It’s good to see you again, but what a dingy little place you have here. Don’t you want to offer me some water?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Would you like some water?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, thank you. You know Green, you should really take better care of your things. I found this coat lying on the floor of my basement. And inside it, this nifty little bank slip, with your address on it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why thank you for bringing that back, Damien!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now you shouldn’t be able to remember my name. But now that I’ve given you back something that belongs to me, it’s only fair that you return something that belongs to me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It would only be fair. Though I am afraid I have nothing of yours to give me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Where is the kid, Green?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t know where he is presently.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Where did you take him?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We took him to Dr. Bright.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who is this we?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Myself and Caleb.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who is Caleb?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>An empath, associated with Bright.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wonderful. I can always count on your cooperation, can’t I Green?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do you remember what comes next?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m afraid I don’t.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Perfect. Now don’t you just want to forget this all happened?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes. I would.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now what is my name?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m afraid I don’t know. Have we met?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. We haven’t.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, well then, my name is Agent Green.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes. I know. On second thought, you’ve gotten your nose into my business one too many times. I don’t really want you getting away with that again. Let’s see here, what do we have? Ah, good. Green would you hand me that bottle there? Good. Now you’re just going to take a nice, long, nap.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, it’s a real pity you’ve cut yourself off from the AM. No one expecting check ins or updates. I wonder how long you’ll lay there like that until one of your neighbors complains about the smell. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sweet dreams, Agent Green.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Blind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A lot of things happen. We get to meet Chloe and Frank and Vanessa. Adam and Caleb are there. I'm too tired for a chapter summary.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> You might consider locking that door Agent Green. Especially in this neighborhood. I expect the next time someone slips in, they won't be here just to talk. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> So let's talk. I mean, you came to my place of residence and stayed seemingly just to pick a bone. So let's have it out. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Not feeling talkative tonight are you? Or are you on a bender. The smell of scotch is overwhelming, you know you're supposed to drink it, not wear it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Nothing? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Perfect. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Door unlocked, lights out, probably drunk off your ass, and passed out. You've really changed, haven't you? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Or maybe you haven't. I guess I never really knew you that well. Not in the way you're supposed to know someone you're in love with. Someone you were in love with. Someone you were engaged to. Shit. I mean, sure I could trace every stupid freckle on your stupid face but I don't even know your first name. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> If someone asked I would have to tell them it's Agent. Which is just … awful. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You know what, I'm not going to just sit here and talk at you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You're going to listen to me damn it. Because, because you hurt me. And then when Ellie had me forced out, you let her. I thought you would come to me, explain yourself, beg for forgiveness. And it's so stupid. Because I think I might have. I was so damn head over heels for you that if you had told me you were sorry, promised to make it right, I would have. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But you showed your true colors. You didn't really care, did you? Sure you like to play good cop bad cop with Ellie, but at heart you're just as rotten. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Where's the fucking lightswitch? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Shit, Green. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Green, wake up. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Wake up. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Wake up you stupid man. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You can't just reappear unexpectedly and then do this to me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Damn it, wake up. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Please. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Green. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Please... </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Caleb clutched his head in his hands and pressed his forehead against the desk. Every minute of this class he regretted even more deciding not to play hookey. It most definitely would have served him better to put some distance between himself and this school, this class, especially on this day.</p><p>On the board in front of the room was written in Mr. Leonard’s handwriting “Reproduction.” Drawn next to it was a crude representation of the reproductive parts of a flower. When he had written it on the board, Caleb nearly excused himself and walked home. If this was the first class of the day, he would rather not see the rest. But his parents would kill him if he missed another day, and he wasn’t certain how much more good will they held out for Doctor Bright who had initially signed off on the idea. </p><p>“Now can anyone tell me from our last lesson how a plant knows when to initialize flowering?”</p><p>The thought of Doctor Bright brought his mind to the events of the day before. His eyes catch on the empty chair in the second row against the wall that Adam Hayes normally sat at in this biology class. He seemed fine when they had left him at his house the night before. Though Caleb couldn’t fault him for wanting to take the day off.</p><p>Caleb just kind of wanted to talk to him about it all. They hadn’t really gotten the chance the day before and, well, Caleb still held out some hope that Hayes was like him, atypical. Dr. Bright hadn’t known and advised Caleb not to bring it up, but he was curious. If Hayes wasn’t atypical, then how was he involved? Why did Damien want him in particular?</p><p>Perhaps Caleb could just check on him. That wouldn’t be weird.</p><p>“Anyone? Anyone?” Mr Leonard asked.</p><p>“The photo-periodic reaction.”</p><p>“Yes, thank you Caitlin,” Mr. Leonard said, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.</p><p>The door opened then and Hayes slipped through. He made himself as small as possible as he went towards his seat. It didn’t really help him hide though, he was the only moving object in the room, which meant every set of eyes fell on him. Caleb could feel his discomfort seep into his own skin.</p><p>“Mr. Hayes, so good of you to finally join us. Can you give me one example of a plant that does not utilize a photo-periodic reaction?”</p><p>Mr. Leonard thought he was being clever, making a point about Hayes missing his class the day before. It was another shot fired in the ceaseless war between the two that had started the first day when Hayes had proven one of Leonard’s statements wrong and called it a “common misconception.” Since then the two had been at each other’s throats. Leonard couldn’t stand for insubordination and Hayes couldn’t stand for incompetence.</p><p>But Hayes was feeling smug.</p><p>“Day neutral plants like cucumbers, tomatoes, and roses do not use the photo-periodic reaction to initialize flowering.”</p><p>Mr. Leonard grit his teeth.</p><p>“Correct. Miss Stacey, could you enlighten me as to the process by which pollen travels from the stamen of one plant to the receptive surface of the same or another flower?”</p><p>“Mr. Leonard, I don’t think I even know what a stamen is,” Cindy Stacey replied airily, twirling her curls between her fingers.</p><p>“I’ve got your stamen right here,” Pierce said, making a rude gesture towards his crotch.</p><p>“Oh, go fuck yourself, Jones,” Caitlin spat.</p><p>“Why would I do that when I’ve got you?”</p><p>At this point the entire room fell apart.</p><p>Caleb felt so angry, and he knew that was coming from the majority of the girls and the guys who were at least half decent. It made his hands twitch so he dug them further into his skull. He couldn’t afford another fight, not with his missing days. Worse than that was the amusement and pride at the joke that made Caleb’s stomach churn. He hated it. All of it. This stupid awful horrid class and his always horny classmates who didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut.</p><p>He didn’t catch another word of the lecture. Which reinforced his resolution that he shouldn’t have even come into school that day. He should have played hookey and spent the day with Agent Green, who suppressed his emotions so much he competed with Doctor Bright. </p><p>The bell rang and Caleb felt relief wash over him from a dozen different places. </p><p>“Mr Hayes, don’t even think about leaving. I have a detention slip to write for you.”</p><p>Indignation flared up in Hayes.</p><p>"Oh, and Mr. Michael's?" Mr Leonard called. "Would you be so kind as to stay a moment with me after class?"</p><p>He groaned and dropped his head to his desk. The other students left and suddenly the room was empty, save for Mr Leonard and Hayes, who were both pointedly ignoring each other. His hands shoved into his jacket, he loped up to the front of the room.</p><p>"Mr. Michaels, you have missed a total of fifteen days of instruction."</p><p>Caleb's hands were incapable of digging deeper into his pockets. Because he <em> knew </em> he was falling behind in his classes. He could feel himself slipping. Junior year had been easier to manage. Everyone's emotions ran smoother then. And his ability had been weaker then. Now the stress of senior year plagued nearly every one of his classmates, regardless of how well they were doing. The drama of school seemed to also elevate as the end of the year approached. </p><p>“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“It’s alright, I know you’re a good kid. And what would the baseball team do without you? So I’ll let you off with a warning. But you need to find time to catch up in your lessons. I don’t want you falling behind.”</p><p>Caleb nodded.</p><p>“Why don’t you get the rest of your stuff packed up while I talk to Mr. Hayes and then you and I can discuss when you can get extra lessons. We need to make sure it works into your practice schedule.”</p><p>He collected all his papers and half-hearted attempts at notes, slid them into his folder, already crammed full of other half-finished assignments.</p><p>“This is bullshit!”</p><p>Caleb looked up to see Hayes with his fists clenched.</p><p>“Michaels misses fifteen days and gets off with a warning and I miss one and get detention? How is that fair?”</p><p>“Mr. Michaels has a signed doctor’s note explaining his absences. Yours was unexcused.”</p><p>“You can’t be serious.”</p><p>“As a heart attack.”</p><p>Hayes’ blood boiled.</p><p>“You know what, whatever. Sure. Fine.”</p><p>“Mr. Leonard?” Caleb asked.</p><p>The teacher looked at him.</p><p>“Just a moment, Caleb. Mr. Hayes, would you like to make it two afternoons this week?”</p><p>“Mr. Leonard.”</p><p>A spark of annoyance came from the man, who turned his attention to Caleb.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“I was just thinking. Hayes is pretty decent at bio. And I know you’re busy tutoring Cindy Stacey. I know my case isn’t so drastic, I just need a little help. Surely that’s something that Hayes could handle. The only problem is that it’d probably be a couple afternoons, which is more than one detention.”</p><p>Caleb could feel the moment that Leonard latched onto the idea. A curl of satisfied spite curved its way into the pit of Caleb’s stomach.</p><p>“What a great idea, Mr Michaels. Don’t you think Mr. Hayes?”</p><p>Hayes didn’t look at him, and Caleb could tell he was equal parts peeved and relieved at not having to serve detention with Leonard.</p><p>“Yeah, sure, fine.”</p><p>“Then it’s settled. I trust the two of you can work it out.”</p><p>Dismissed, the both of them filed into the bustling hallway. Caleb turned to ask Hayes when he had free time, but the other boy disappeared, slipping into the crowd.</p><p>Caleb found him again when classes let out for lunch. Hayes didn’t normally go home, something about both his parents working during the day. Instead, he ate in the library. That’s where Caleb looked first. Hayes was absentmindedly flipping through a textbook, not actually reading the text on the page.</p><p>“Hey, Hayes.”</p><p>The other boy looked up and Caleb was hit with a strange slurry of emotions, positive and negative.</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>“How are you holding up?”</p><p>Hayes looked him up and down. “Fine. I’m fine.”</p><p>“I’m kind of surprised to see you today, I mean, yesterday must have been stressful for you.”</p><p>Hayes shrugged.</p><p>“You saw what Leonard was like when I missed one day. Imagine if I had missed a second.”</p><p>“I think he was just pissed you knew the answer. He’s the kind of guy who likes to know he’s the smartest in the room. Even if he’s wrong.”</p><p>“He doesn’t get on you about anything though. I watched you in class today. You practically slept through the whole thing and he gave you little more than a slap on the wrist.”</p><p>“Yes, unfortunately he’s a big fan of baseball. Even if he doesn’t know a lick about it.”</p><p>Hayes smirked. “Unfortunately, he doesn’t know a lick about biology either.”</p><p>“Speaking of, you don’t have to help me out. I always manage to figure things out one way or another. Or I don’t and it’s fine.”</p><p>“God, I guess I underestimated you. I thought you were using it as an excuse to get me to do your homework for you.”</p><p>“Nah, I think I can do it, if I have the space to think without everyone else’s emotions assailing me.”</p><p>It was a long shot and a stupid thing to say. </p><p>But Adam didn’t say anything, though he did seem a bit confused, though that had been growing since Caleb came up and talked to him.</p><p>“Right, well, I can still help if you want. I may hate biology, but the curse of having two parents who are doctors is that sometimes knowledge just rubs off on you.”</p><p>“That might make it a lot easier for me. As you might have noticed, I have been missing a lot of classes.”</p><p>“Yeah, I did notice.”</p><p>Embarrassment. Why would he be embarrassed?</p><p>“Cool. Did you bring lunch?”</p><p>“No, my parents got an emergency call this morning and had to rush off and I didn’t have time to get everything ready before class. Which is also why I was late.”</p><p>“Well, would you like to come over to my house? My dad will make you a sandwich.”</p><p>Hayes hesitated. “Um, sure.”</p><p> </p><p>In his rush that morning, he had forgone breakfast, so Adam was starving when they arrived. Mr. Michaels made a mean sandwich. Something about the way he toasted the bread and the meat and cheese and then layered on toppings really hit exactly the right spot. Adam was a little jealous that Michaels got to have this. A parent who stayed home. He knew his parents did important work, but it meant they weren’t around that much, and often Adam was left on his own.</p><p>That was how the man had gotten to him. He was alone at his house when there was a knock on the door and he had just needed to know who it was, and then to go with him. It was strange. And it scared him that he couldn’t trust himself anymore. When Dr Bright had dropped him back off at his house, he had worried that his parents would be upset with him, that he would return to being constantly monitored, and torn by the fact that he thought it might be better.</p><p>It was a relief when Michaels had offered to walk back to his house with him after classes ended that day, even if it was under false pretenses. Adam had told him that he had a biology textbook at his house that was actually well written, as opposed to the outdated and unwieldy tomes the school required them to use. It was true that the textbook was better, but Adam didn’t actually need it to explain the concepts.</p><p>A sleek black car was pulled up in front of the house. Annabelle was here.</p><p>He opened the door to his house to hear adults arguing in the kitchen.</p><p>“I’m home! With a friend.”</p><p>The arguing stopped and he heard shuffling.</p><p>When they made it to the kitchen, Adam’s mother and aunt were standing on opposite sides of the kitchen, arms crossed across their chests and his father was angrily washing a clean bowl. As soon as Michaels entered, he tensed.</p><p>“Adam, how are you doing, sweetheart?”</p><p>“I’m fine. So this is Caleb Michaels.”</p><p>His mother pasted on a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.</p><p>“Hello, Caleb. It’s very nice to meet you. Sorry we weren’t expecting you. Adam so rarely brings anyone home to see us.”</p><p>His father turned around.</p><p>“Would you like anything to eat?”</p><p>“Actually we just dropped by to grab a book, and then we’re going over to the Michaels house.”</p><p>“Ah, yes, that might be wise,” his father said, wringing his hands.</p><p>“Why don’t I give you both a ride then? It’s dangerous to be out right now.” his aunt offered.</p><p>“Annabelle,” his mother started, staring at her sister. “This conversation isn’t over. Something needs to be done. He kidnapped my son. He nearly killed Green. We have no idea where he-”</p><p>“Wait, what happened to Agent Green?” Caleb asked.</p><p>Annabelle shot his mother an annoyed glance.</p><p>“Nothing you need to worry about, Caleb. Green knew the risks when he accepted the job.”</p><p>“But he didn’t,” his father said. “You wouldn’t tell him any details. His name, what he could do. How could Owen have properly prepared?”</p><p>“Owen should have been more careful.”</p><p>Owen. This was the moment Adam realized that his parents and aunt didn’t just know Green professionally. They actually knew him, were on a first name basis with him. They knew what was going on and they hadn’t told him. They knew Damien was out there, could be dangerous and hadn’t told him. That’s why they hadn’t been surprised when he told them what had happened, how he had willingly walked out. They knew, and decided Adam didn’t need to.</p><p>“I think we’ll walk,” Adam said, running up to his room and grabbing the book and dropping it in his bag.</p><p>“Adam,” his aunt started, “please let me drive you.”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it, we’ll be fine.”</p><p>Adam grabbed Caleb’s arm and led him out of the house.</p><p>Once on the street, he set off, pulling Caleb with him.</p><p>“My house -”</p><p>“Is in the other direction I know. We aren’t going there.”</p><p>“We’re going to see Doctor Bright,” Caleb reasoned.</p><p>Adam looked at him and nodded.</p><p>“I need some answers.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam should have been more surprised when the two high school boys showed back up at her house. Instead she just held open the door and let them in.</p><p>“Is Doctor Bright here?” Caleb asked.</p><p>“She’s upstairs with Green.”</p><p>“Is he-?”</p><p>“He hasn’t woken up yet.”</p><p>Caleb nodded solemnly. The other one, (Aaron? Austin? Adam?) stared Sam down.</p><p>“Tell me what’s going on.”</p><p>“Your parents asked that you not be involved in this,” Joan said from the bottom of the steps.</p><p>“I am already involved with this. Do you think I should continue to be kept in the dark?”</p><p>“What I think doesn’t matter. This was your parents’ decision.”</p><p>Joan seemed steadfast, but Sam could tell she disagreed with the decision, that she agreed that the kid should know why he had been kidnapped. Joan was also very, very tired. She had been up all night with the Hayes, getting whatever they needed to help with Green. Sam didn’t know how she had gotten some of the equipment, but it had appeared, and the doctors didn’t question it either. When Sam tried to persuade her to stop, at around two in the morning, the most she was able to manage was to get Joan to sit down beside Green. Sam had caught her dozing sometime around noon, but that hadn’t lasted long.</p><p>“Can I get you two anything? Tea? Milk? Water? I don’t have much in the way of snacks, but I can grab something if you want. Caleb, I can make some peanut butter crackers.”</p><p>“Yeah, Sam, that’d be great.”</p><p>Sam smiled at him, glad to have something to do with herself. She kept more food around, now that Joan lived here too. And Caleb and some of the other patients came over too, Chloe more often than not. So now, she kept her pantry stocked with things that could fit a wide range of tastes, rather than just her own and Darwin’s. As she pulled the peanut butter from the pantry, the back door opened and Chloe walked in, followed by Frank.</p><p>“Ooh peanut butter crackers, Caleb must be here. Oh, and he brought a friend. The boy from yesterday?”</p><p>“Chloe,” Frank warned.</p><p>“I know, I know. So, Sam how was your day?”</p><p>“Hectic. Last night-”</p><p>“Oh my god is he okay? Do they know when he’ll wake up?”</p><p>“We don’t know. The Hayes said that we should just monitor him to the best of our ability.”</p><p>“Oh, I hope he gets better. If he doesn’t, Joan is going to be so devastated.”</p><p>“I mean, we’ll all be a little distraught but-”</p><p>“Yeah, but she was engaged to him for months<em> . </em> It’s a little different.”</p><p>“She <em> what? </em>”</p><p>Joan Bright? Engaged? To Agent Green?</p><p>“Chloe,” Frank repeated.</p><p>Chloe looked at Frank and then at Sam, and then back at Frank before hanging her head.</p><p>“Yeah, I know. You’re right.”</p><p>“Did you two find anything?” Sam asked.</p><p>Frank shook his head.</p><p>“No sign of Damien at the house. Doesn’t look like he returned there afterwards. Nor did he circle back to Green’s apartment. We’re back to not knowing what his next move is going to be.”</p><p>“We did find this,” Chloe said, holding up a tape recorder. “The most recent entry is from last night.”</p><p>She hit the play button and Agent Green’s voice came through the dinny speaker.</p><p>“<em> This is Agent Green. Case Log 1036. Day … something of observation. I’m not even sure if I did a log yesterday. Suspect now has a name, courtesy of Doctor Bright. Damien. Whether that is a real name or not, I’m not certain.” </em></p><p>Chloe paused it as Joan walked in, trailed by Caleb and the other kid with the A-name.</p><p>“Sweet, thanks for the crackers Sam.”</p><p>Caleb picked two up and offered one to his friend, only to have the other wave him away.</p><p>“Where did you two find that?” Joan asked, crossing her arms.</p><p>“Green’s apartment.”</p><p>“What else is on it?”</p><p>“That’s about as far as we got in our listen through. I kinda skipped around a bit, and most of the tape is empty, just white noise. Hours of white noise.”</p><p>“Could you back it up to the beginning of that entry and restart it?”</p><p>“Yeah, hold on,” Chloe said, pulling out the tape and sticking her finger in the dial, winding it back just a tad.</p><p>“Here.”</p><p>“...<em> something of observation. I’m not even sure if I did a log yesterday… </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Anyways, sweet dreams, Agent Green.” </em></p><p>Caleb listened to the sound of the door closing in the apartment and then reached over and stopped the tape himself. Listening to it had made him lose his appetite, and he pushed away the crackers.</p><p>“What does it mean that he knows my name now? That he knows what I can do?”</p><p>“It means that you probably shouldn’t travel on your own anymore. You either, Adam.” Doctor Bright said. “We now know for certain that what he wanted was a way to blackmail Wadsworth. Thanks to Caleb and Green, he didn’t get it he wanted so you might still be in danger. But if he tracked down Green...”</p><p>“He can definitely find us here,” Chloe finished. “I can ask my mom-”</p><p>“No,” Doctor Bright said, “Right now you, your mother, and Frank aren’t involved. I don’t want to see you all hurt.”</p><p>“What about the other house?” Sam asked.</p><p>Doctor Bright paused. “Sam I don’t want to impose on-”</p><p>“It’s fine Joan. I mean, they certainly aren’t using it.”</p><p>The statement made a wave of sadness wash over Sam and Caleb couldn’t quite brush it off. Doctor Bright reached out to run a soothing hand down Sam’s arm.</p><p>“So it’s settled?” Chloe asked. “Frank and I still have the car, he can drive people over.”</p><p>Doctor Bright looked around, her eyes landing on Caleb.</p><p>“Do you want to call your father and tell him where you are?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah dad, love you too.”</p><p>Michaels hung up the phone and glanced over at Adam.</p><p>“Oh, sorry did you need…”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m just going to call my parents and let them know that I’m fine.”</p><p>“So you’re coming with us?”</p><p>Adam scratched his head. He had already discussed this with Doctor Bright while Michaels talked to his family. For the moment, with everything about Damien up in the air, he needed to be around people. His parents couldn’t just sit around the house with him, making sure he didn’t get kidnapped again.</p><p>“I just-I’m involved already, right? So it’d just be better to be with people who will tell me what’s going on, even if there is nothing I can really do about it.”</p><p>Michaels nodded solemnly and then grinned.</p><p>“Well I for one am glad you’re coming. I could really use the extra help on bio.”</p><p>“Then I suppose it’s a good thing we have all night to drill it into your thick skull.”</p><p>The other boy grinned at him and handed him the phone.</p><p> </p><p>Light pierced in through the crack in the curtains. The smell of mothballs and starch permeated the room, stale and settled like the dust that rested on every surface. Warmth crowded the space, filling the stale air. The only thing that was not stagnant was the sound of voices, drifting through the walls and up through the floor and creeping around the cracks in the doorway like a thousand incessant buzzing locusts, swarming into his ears.</p><p>Each sensory input pounded another train spike into his brain and pain knotted around him like a vice that someone twisted tighter and tighter around him until he couldn’t breathe in a regular pattern or form a coherent thought.</p><p>Then, it faded. </p><p>More accurately, it numbed enough for him to locate the source. His head was throbbing. He could feel his pulse at his temple like a war drum.</p><p>But he could think again, figure out where exactly he was.</p><p>Or attempt to. It was very difficult to determine a precise location when none of his senses wanted to work in tandem. So one sense at a time then.</p><p>Taste. Not really much information to be gained there. His mouth was dry, faint hints of salt from sweat and iron tang from blood. </p><p>Touch. He was lying down, that much he could say for certain, even if it seemed like he was rolling on waves. His fingers felt cloth, pliable but still stiff to the touch, resistant. Sheets then, clean and starched. That ruled out his own apartment at least.</p><p>Smell. Mothballs, the starch from the sheets, a headier scent beneath it like treated wood.</p><p>Sound. The voices, too loud for his ears and too quiet to make sense of anything. Not in the room though, beyond it. None addressed towards him. So he was probably alone. Which meant no immediate danger. He would have at least enough time to concoct a plan before having to face another soul.</p><p>Sight. He peeled his eyes open slowly, one at a time. First left, then right. Above him were large stately wooden beams and an unlit light fixture hung from the ceiling, a delicate arrangement of scalloped glass and deep bronze hardware. To his side was a bedside table, with his voice recorder sat on top. The covers that nestled around him were maroon with vaguely floral shapes embroidered into them. They looked almost hand stitched and were of a quality make. A large wooden wardrobe stood against the far wall, and a few feet from it was a door. </p><p>A bedroom, if it wasn’t obvious before. A <em> nice </em> bedroom. One that he had never seen before.</p><p>And the voices began to separate from their humm. He could distinguish at least one. Caleb, coming from the next room over. The realization sent a wave of relief through him as another bout of pain decided to interrupt his train of thought. When it passed again, he found he had the strength to sit up, even drop his feet to the floor where an ornate rug coated the hardwood floor. His feet were bare and sunk into the rich weave.</p><p>Soon he attempted to stand, and after the second attempt, managed to get his feet beneath him. He crossed the room next, and found himself in an unfamiliar hallway. Dark wooden paneling lined the halls and hung from them were various pieces of art, including what looked to be family photos. The first sets of photos he came across as he made his way down the hall were of a small girl, ribbons in her hair and always in some poofy white dress. He followed them and watched the girl age, until he recognized her.</p><p>It was Sam.</p><p>But this wasn’t the house she lived in, where he had met her when visiting Joan. This was older, and by his estimate, judging by the number of doors and the length of the hallway, much larger. He made it to the next door, which stood open. Beyond it sat Caleb and the other boy. The Hayes boy, poured over a book, their heads tilted together.</p><p>Caleb must have sensed him though. Green didn’t know what emotions he might be projecting, but Caleb looked up and saw him and his eyes widened and his mouth quirked from a grin to a full on smile.</p><p>“Agent Green! You’re awake!”</p><p>The other boy turned and looked as well.</p><p>Caleb stood and crossed the room quickly and looked Green up and down.</p><p>It was rare that anyone was taller than Green. He knew, logically that those people existed, but it hadn’t been until his acquaintance with Caleb that the realization regularly occurred to him. </p><p>“Yes, I am.”</p><p>“Come on, the others will want to see you.”</p><p>Caleb led him downstairs with the Hayes boy trailing along behind, to a dining are where a collection of people gathered around a large rectangular table that looked more suited to hold grand feasts than this ragtag collection. He recognized a few faces. Sam, looking much older than the photos he had seen upstairs, Doctor Elias Hayes, and of course, Joan. He felt all their eyes fall on him and watched as Joan sat up straighter.</p><p>“Good, you are awake,” Doctor Hayes said. “Rebecca and I feared the worst.”</p><p>Green nodded.</p><p>“Thank you, for your concern.”</p><p>“Are you feeling better?” Sam asked, her voice laced with concern.</p><p>“I’m fine, thank you.”</p><p>“Here, Agent Green,” Caleb said, touching his elbow to get his attention. “I don’t think you’ve met Frank, or Chloe, or Mrs. Turner.”</p><p>He gestured towards each of them in turn.</p><p>“Vanessa,” the oldest woman said.</p><p>“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”</p><p>The younger girl, Chloe smiled.</p><p>“It’s a real treat to finally meet you too Agent Green! Caleb’s talked about you and Joan has-”</p><p>“Chloe.”</p><p>Her name came from three different places. Frank, Vanessa, and Joan, all in unison, all in similar tones.</p><p>Chloe blushed. “Right, sorry.”</p><p>Atypical. They likely all were, save himself, Joan, and the Hayes. Vanessa Turner was a name he recognized as one of Joan’s friends, the telekinetic who had been the first real exposure Joan had to the underground world of atypicals. The girl seated next to her, Chloe, was a spitting image of her mother. Likely also atypical. She could be an empath, like Caleb, or some other type perhaps maybe a-</p><p>“I read minds,” she provided helpfully. “And Frank is an empath, kind of. Sort of. It’s complicated.”</p><p>A mind reader. Powerful too if she could pinpoint his thoughts and sift out all the overwhelming chatter of having a room full of people.</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>“If you don’t mind Green, may I ask you a few questions?” Elijah was already standing up from his seat and making his way over as he posed the question.</p><p>“Of course. Whatever you need.”</p><p>“Good, step into the next room, away from all this.”</p><p>Green nodded and followed him.</p><p>The first thing Hayes made him do was follow his finger with only his eyes as he swept it back and forth across his vision. Then he tested the dilation of his pupils with a flashlight. All the while, he asked him questions. What city he was in, where he grew up, what his name was, what day of the week it was and so on.</p><p>When he finished, he sighed.</p><p>“Your eyes are shaking when you track and your answers are slower than usual. It’s likely you’ve experienced head trauma. This could take anywhere between one to three months to heal, given that you make certain to rest. Which you absolutley should, but I know you are likely to ignore that advice.”</p><p>Agent Green grimaced and the doctor sighed.</p><p>“Just promise me to try not to get hit over the head again.”</p><p>“I will not seek it out, no.”</p><p>That seemed to satisfy him and they made their way back into the dining room where the others still sat.</p><p>“I am headed out,” Doctor Hayes announced, grabbing the coat from the back of his chair and pulling it on. “Boychik, you are still resolute on remaining here?”</p><p>He rested a hand on his son’s shoulder.</p><p>“Yeah. I’m staying.”</p><p>The hand gave a little pat.</p><p>“That’s probably wise. But if your mother asks, I never wanted to agree to letting you stay, but you really dug your feet in.”</p><p>The Hayes kid, Adam, nodded and smiled at his father as the man tipped his hat to the others and left.</p><p>Green took the vacated chair and settled in. He tried to pay attention to the conversation between the others, but he couldn’t. A thick fog settled over his brain, curving the edges of each word until they all had the same, amorphous form. He didn’t notice how much time had passed before he blinked and saw that Vanessa, Chloe and Frank were bidding farewell.</p><p>Caleb and Adam had already disappeared, leaving Sam, Joan and Green at the table. Sam and Joan continued a hushed conversation that Green was not privy to. Instead, he noticed the way that they leaned towards each other conspiratorially and how when they spoke, they often filled in words that the other was missing.</p><p>Joan’s face was open and easy when she spoke with Sam. </p><p>Something hardened in him, made him turn away.</p><p>Some part of him, a part he didn’t want to admit, hoped she was just as miserable as him. He didn’t often let that part surface, but that vindictive piece of him had taken this night, this opportunity to sink it’s teeth in his thoughts.</p><p>
  <em> Why shouldn’t she be happy? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She deserves it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She doesn’t deserve you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> All you did was make her unhappy. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You came in and bored yourself a hole in her life and settled in. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You isolated her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Now that she’s rid of you, she is happy. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She is free. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She was always better off without you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Everyone is. </em>
</p><p>He tried to shake it, but its grip was solid, unyielding. Probably because a lot of what it said was right. Joan deserved to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him. If he really loved her, he would want that. He wouldn’t hold on to the foolish hope that she still harbored feelings for him.</p><p>He knew these things and he wished he didn’t.</p><p>He wished he hadn’t seen the way that she smiled when she talked with Sam.</p><p>He should excuse himself, go back to his bed, or even go back to his own apartment and his own thin mattress and rough sheets. But he couldn’t move. His bones were too tired, his head too heavy on his shoulders. So he sat there.</p><p>Eventually Sam stifled a yawn and came to the conclusion that she needed to sleep.</p><p>Then he and Joan were alone.</p><p>His stomach decided to take that opportunity to make it’s needs known.</p><p>Joan looked at him in alarm.</p><p>“You haven’t eaten all day.”</p><p>“I’m fine, I’ll just-”</p><p>“Don’t. Let me just…”</p><p>She stood and disappeared through a doorway and he could hear things moving about and she returned with sandwich in hand.</p><p>It was warm and she had toasted the bread and the cheese had melted off the edges. </p><p>“There’s not much else around.”</p><p>“I-thank you Joan.”</p><p>She crossed her arms over her chest and brushed a strand of hair back from her face.</p><p>“It’s no problem.”</p><p>Green looked at her and for a moment his entire vision was taken up by the view of her, standing there in a thick navy sweater tossed over a white blouse and a tan skirt. Her dark hair was pulled back into a simple braid, save for a few flyaway strands tucked behind her ears.</p><p>It took him a moment to realize she had spoken.</p><p>“I’m sorry, what did you say?”</p><p>“I asked if you knew what his name was.”</p><p>He tilted his head in confusion.</p><p>“Your target. The man you’ve been staking out.”</p><p>“Oh, no, I don’t.”</p><p>Her lips purse into a tight frown.</p><p>“It’s Damien. His name is Damien. And he can control minds. Well he can...inflict his desires upon other people. Make them want what he wants.”</p><p>“I see. How do you know this?”</p><p>“I’m the one who turned him in to Wadsworth. He-he was using his ability to steal, to cheat people out of their possessions. It was dangerous and he destroyed several people’s livelihoods.”</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>Joan shifted on her feet.</p><p>“You’ve met him too, but he made you forget. Twice now. The most recent time was last night, it’s on your recording. That’s why we brought the tape for you, so you could listen to it for yourself.”</p><p>“...I see.”</p><p>She nodded.</p><p>“Goodnight, Green.”</p><p>“Goodnight, Joan.”</p><p>He ate the remainder of his sandwich in silence, long after it cooled.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Damn it, wake up. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Please. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Green. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Please… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ...I found this recording when I was playing back through the tape. I’m not sure what I should say. I meant to add my new notes, seeing as these tapes might be the best method to make certain my findings are permanent, even if I can no longer remember them. Today’s findings on Case...I don’t know. But his name is Damien. I’ve come face to face with him twice before and both times, he erased all memory of the encounter. He can inflict his will upon people. Years ago he used it to...swindle some people or something. I don’t know. I can’t think straight right now. Joan-Doctor Bright turned him into Ellie-damn it-Wadsworth. I-I…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She found me there. She got the Hayes for me. She said-</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I need to talk to Joan.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hey let me know what you think, or just a reaction or whatever in the comments or you can find me at a second location...<br/>I am finistfalcon on tumblr and finistfalcon#9038 on discord<br/>cheers</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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